


XI

by indaco



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: GAYS. IN. SPACE., Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, drunk conversations, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 01:56:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indaco/pseuds/indaco
Summary: Written for the prompt: "Things you said when you were drunk."





	XI

A slow, easy sweep of a mostly uninhabited galaxy. As safe as it was mundane. The fly-overs of deserted, long-dead planets could be compared to a cruise, a glide. A trip that really shouldn't have taken more than a few days.

Poe had insisted that they take the scenic route.

One of the detours was a terrestrial system B-638. Which included a small, flowery green dot. This planet, with three moons so reflective they acted as mini suns. These suns kept the planet in a constant, planet-wide season of spring. With a rainy climate, balmy air, and a wealthy population- agriculture thrived there.

They also, of course, had the best alcohol credits could buy. A soft pink, fizzy, concoction with gentle floral notes, sweet undertones, and a kind of snapping tartness to cut through any bitterness that might be left.

And Finn absolutely has to try it. Poe thought to himself.

He never set out to be drinking buddies with Finn. Really. He swears this up and down.

But when you bunk together, spend the majority of your free time with one another, and both happen to be two of the lightest of lightweights in this star system- it just kind of, happens.

They’re both giggly drunks, as it would turn out.

Poe is more inclined to be a storyteller. On two drinks, he can embellish a trip down the hall with such diction, such sweeping hyperbole that it would leave the most seasoned adventurer on the edge of their seat. On four, he’s something of a bard.

Finn just gets honest. Not as entertaining, but pretty damn breathtaking to be in the presence of.

Poe is just tying up the loose ends of a story starring none other than Leia Organa and his mother in their youth. The gut-punching, cackle inducing twist leaves them on the floor. Bracing themselves against Finn’s bunk, their laughs dissolve into a tear-wiping, comfortable silence.

The hush that falls over their room is a swinging lull. Back and forth, like a conversational pendulum. Back and forth. Who’s going to speak next? Back and forth. Will one of them say they’re going to bed? Back and forth. Will one move onto a new topic? Back and forth, back and forth, back and-

Finn downs the last of the pink liquid in his glass and stops the swing.

“I missed you.”

It’s sincere. His face is sincere, the tone of voice, the sentiment. Finn is always sincere. This is one of Poe’s favorite parts about him.

Though the statement is genuine, it’s still absurd.

Poe can’t help but giggle.

He pours himself another glass, replying lightly, “I missed you, too, buddy.”

He tilts the bottle toward Finn, who shakes his head. His earnest expression is still fixed on his face.

“I don’t mean-” Something blocks his voice.

Poe’s face falls. Finn casts his gaze downward, letting out a puff of breath.

“I don’t know how to say this.”

The pendulum moves from the conversation and makes its way into Poe’s chest. He turns his gaze forward- putting up a symbolic veil of privacy between them- there’s something more intimate about the boundaries between them than the lack of them.

He replies softly, “Take your time.”

Finn clears whatever was blocking his throat, and places his glass down on the floor- like he’s bracing himself.

“What did you think happened to me after we crashed?”

Poe almost startles. Uncomfortable images flash through his head. The type of non-memories, cruel “what-ifs”, and sinister “what could’ve been's” that grow ever the more unpleasant with time. The more he gets to know Finn, the worse they get. The more detailed, more personal, more specific.

“I was kind of out of it,” Poe takes a sip at his drink as an attempt at nonchalance, “I don’t know what I thought.”

Silence. He dares to break the barrier, only to see that he didn’t break it at all. Finn is already looking at him again. With the same expression, Finn gets when he’s misplaced his jacket, or when he’s trying to find out where Poe and his friends are sitting in the mess hall, the same expression when he can’t remember a specific idiom or a coordinate. And Poe knows the expression well.

Finn is looking for something.

Poe deflates, and he doesn’t trust the fear in his voice, “I thought you died.”

His friend nods, the expression gone.

“I thought you died, too.”

Finn rests his head against Poe’s shoulder, and Poe rests his own head atop is. He isn’t reaching for the alcohol, just initiating contact. Enjoying something solid, the illusion of a new constant that is slowly becoming his reality.

“Is that what you meant-” Poe grabs the bottle and screws it shut, “When you said that you missed me?”

Finn shifts against him, but doesn’t get up, “How could I not?”

Poe can’t articulate his understanding, but it’s there nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> what even is characterization? i'm tired


End file.
